


Heartache to Sing

by throwupsparkles



Category: HIM (Band), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Amnesia, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwupsparkles/pseuds/throwupsparkles
Summary: “You think we’ve met before?”“Have we?” Gerard challenges.“No,” Frank says quickly, then the tightness dissolves and he looks back at Gerard with a soft smile. “I would have remembered you.”
Relationships: Bam Margera/Ville Valo, Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 93
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of things. I know I have other WIPS, but I had this really sad dream some days ago and I couldn't push this story off to the side anymore. Also, if you follow me on any social, you'll know that I've really gotten into HIM, so there's some new friends in this fic that don't usually show up in my MCR fics.
> 
> [Credit](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/mikey-way-why-you-no-smile/76988568288) for the photo used in my edit.

It sometimes humors Gerard how much he loves the silence these days. 

Because he remembers being an angsty little shit and never leaving the house without his headphones. He distinctly remembers this one time his family went to Busch Gardens for a family vacation. Gerard had been thirteen-- so the age where spending any time with his family felt like being filleted alive-- and he had his walkman, playing the same Morrissey tape over and over. He’d always been drawn to music, loved the way it made his blood boil but still his mind. That craving was always around, and Gerard was happy to feed it. 

And when he didn’t have music plugged in, he’d make noise. He’d hum, tap, sing, or bounce his knee to some rhythm that he kept in his mind. He just had to fill the void that if left for too long, would drive Gerard mad. And he was  _ loud _ . Everywhere he went, people knew he was coming. His laughter was cackling and powerful to the point that it moved others to smiles as well. His voice would crescendo with excitement as he bounced from one conversation to another. 

But like with most extremities, it was met with an opposing force. 

“That’s four seventy-three,” Gerard says softly. 

There’s this kid in front of him that’s just kicking Gerard in the softest part of his heart. And maybe it’s his age, but he just feels so damn nostalgic all the time. Which is a riot in and of itself, but here’s this kid-- who couldn’t be more than ten or so-- dumping out a ziplock of change onto the counter top with this  _ huge _ smile on his face. And Gerard fucking remembers that feeling. When there was absolutely nothing better in the world than a bag of change and Wednesdays at a comic book shop. 

The excitement is too precious, so Gerard takes his time counting out the change in front of the kid, grinning at the growing excitement as the kid gets closer to owning the newest Batman issue. 

Gerard bags and boards the issue before slipping it into a paper sleeve and handing it to him. “You take care of that,” Gerard says solemnly, then gives him a wink--which makes him feel even fucking older than he already is. But whatever, it's days like these that make him really glad he and his brother opened a comic shop. 

The kid practically  _ bounces _ out of the store, nearly running into Mikey who is carrying two cups of coffee from Ville’s shop a few blocks down the road. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t give the kid any grief because he was just as bad when he was that age. 

“So Ville may have gotten a bit heavy handed with the caramel sauce,” Mikey says, handing over Gerard’s takeout cup. 

“No such thing,” Gerard rasps, then goes to clear his throat which earns a stern look from Mikey. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“I told you that you were overdoing it last night,” Mikey sighs, taking a sip from his own cup. 

‘Overdoing it’ was Gerard playing video games with Bam. Which, yeah, sounds wholesome, but Bam is as childish as Gerard is at heart and the two of them wind up arguing whether or not Ninetindo games are better than PlayStation ones. Obviously Ninetindo games win, but Bam is uncultured and swears that the whole era of Spyro and Crash make PlayStation the superior gaming system. 

Which, fair, but Zelda tops them all. 

Gerard knows that Mikey is right, the little shit is  _ always _ right. But Gerard’s been dealing with his vocal cord paralysis long enough to know when he can and can’t push it. Sometimes it just means that the next day he has to not talk as much and drink plenty of hot liquids. Which he’s doing, although that’s not going to stop Mikey from worrying. 

And that eats at Gerard a bit, because there was a time when it was Gerard’s job to worry about Mikey--before his accident anyway. 

Gerard doesn’t remember much of it, which he’s a bit grateful for because whenever he brings it up, Mikey’s face ashens and he looks like he’s seen a ghost. And there’s nothing that Gerard wants to know if it makes his little brother look like that. Sometimes he thinks he’s really lucky that all he remembers is waking up in a hospital without being able to talk and a chunk of his memories gone. 

“It’s better if you don’t know,” Mikey had whispered to him, holding his hand that wasn’t tangled with IVs. “It’d just hurt you more.”

It had been weird seeing Mikey as the responsible one out of the two of them. He looked different from what he remembered, his face hardened and eyes bloodshot. But he contributed that to whatever happened to Gerard. Past that though, Gerard could see that his little brother wasn’t little at all anymore. He seemed older than Gerard even, and there was a part of Gerard that felt like that meant he’d let Mikey down somehow. 

But he had let Mikey take the lead, because he really didn’t know what was going on. The doctors had kept interrogating him to figure out where his memories stopped and--although their expressions were carefully blank--Mikey’s face crumbled when it seemed like Gerard couldn’t remember anything past 2001. 

Gerard winces when he takes a drink and gets a mouthful of caramel sauce. Mikey looks up and chuckles, “Told you.”

“What the fuck did he do?” Gerard asks, trying to swallow the wad of sticky sugar. 

“We were talking about  _ The Mountain of Madness _ ,” Mikey says, shrugging as he flips through the new trades they got in this morning. 

“You didn’t learn your lesson from talking about Lovecraft with Ville last time?” Gerard wonders, because whenever Ville and Mikey get to talking about horror literature, danger always ensues. Neither of them can pay attention to anything else besides their hard ons for Lovecraft, which has resulted in plenty of burnt fingers from forgotten cigarettes or, more notably, the time that Mikey forgot he had been filling up a pot of water in the sink and flooded their kitchen. 

Mikey smirks, but doesn’t say anything. Because it’s not like he doesn’t know that Gerard is thrilled that Mikey loves his life here in the sleepy town he had uprooted them to after Gerard’s accident. It had been an issue when they first moved, Gerard was worried that Mikey had given up his life for Gerard and would end up resenting him from taking him from the bustle of the Jersey scene Mikey had come to love. 

“I’m not even really in the scene anymore,” Mikey had to remind him, because, yeah, the last thing Gerard really remembers about Mikey before the accident was him squeezing into too tight shirts and getting into shows for free. 

A lot of time had passed. And it really freaked Gerard out when he finally got a look at himself in the mirror. He thought he was going to be met with his round face, youthful and framed with his signature messy black hair. What he got instead was a man with a sharpness to his face that he couldn’t recognize, a hardened look around his eyes like he’d seen some shit and his hair had been a weird yellow color, like he’d had tried to bleach out a bad dye job. To say it fucked with him would be an understatement.

“How is it possible that I’m missing a decade of memories?” Gerard had rasped and Mikey had to pull him away from the mirror to talk him through the breathing exercises his therapist had taught him. 

The thing about missing memories though, is that Gerard doesn’t really have a strong emotion towards it. Once he got over the fear and uneasiness, there was just a void. Because he didn’t know what he was missing and Mikey refused to give him much more than vague descriptions. He could tell Gerard all about his hair experiments, tease him for the ridiculous clothes he’d collected over the years, and even show him some photos of him with people he couldn’t recognize. But he never gave specifics. He wouldn’t tell him where he worked, just said that Gerard liked to hop around and try different things. He wouldn’t give him details about any romantic relationships he had, explaining that he didn’t want to put Gerard through all that heartbreak again. 

“Oh, well I guess it’s a bit comforting to know I still don’t have game,” Gerard had joked, and something loosened in his chest when Mikey finally cracked a smile. 

So in the end, Gerard was content to not push anymore. He liked the life he had  _ now _ and didn’t see the need to wonder what he had. He liked that he and Mikey lived in this little yellow house just a few minutes away from a park that Gerard liked to walk in when he needed to get out of his head for a bit. He liked the comic shop he and Mikey owned and liked the customers that came in. Everyone in the small town had learned about Gerard’s accident over the years of their residency, so they’re really good about not asking Gerard to raise his voice if they don’t catch what he said the first time and they don’t keep conversations going for too long so he doesn’t strain his voice. 

And they have really good friends. Ville and Bam had meshed with Mikey and Gerard right away. So much so it was like they knew them from another life or something, the way that Ville just instantly knew how to draw Mikey into conversations and the way that Bam could make Gerard feel at ease when he was always nervous around new people. It also probably helps that Ville makes the best coffee that he’s ever tasted--or, well, the best that he can  _ remember _ tasting. 

That joke always makes Ville laugh. 

*

The thing Gerard loves most about small town life is that his favorite brand of macaroni and cheese is never out of stock. He half suspects it’s because Courtney keeps an eye on the stock just for Gerard, but it's the little things that he’s come to really enjoy about his life. And he knows a lot of that comes from being his age, but he wonders if it really counts if he doesn’t remember maturing. But he does find this calming stillness that he doesn’t remember having when he was in his early twenties. 

He likes routines now. Something that used to drive him up a wall. On his days off from the shop, he does his and Mikey’s grocery shopping since Mikey always gets distracted at the store and ends up bringing home different flavors of M&Ms but then forgets the bread Gerard needs to make lunches for the week. And then after he gets home, he puts everything away before heading to Ville’s because while Mikey gets distracted at the store, Gerard gets distracted cooking. After the time Gerard almost knocked a pot of boiling water on himself, Mikey banned Gerard from cooking anything that couldn’t be microwaved when he wasn’t around to supervise.

While Ville had insisted on only mastering his coffee creations, he eventually caved and got a bakery case after Gerard batted his lashes enough. And then he even started to put sandwiches on the menu. 

“Like Starbucks!” Gerard had whispered-exclaimed in the way he does whenever he gets excited now. 

Ville had narrowed his eyes and purred, “Sweetheart, if you ever compare my shop to Starbucks again, I’ll piss in your coffee.”

And Ville can be scary when he wants to be, so Gerard keeps his opinions on how to make his shop more Gerard-Approved to himself. 

Gerard slips the drawing he’s been working on for Ville’s new menu designs on the table and blushes when Ville sets down the caramel dispenser--probably for the best--and grins that smile that makes his eyes brighten. “Oh, this is perfect.”

It had been confusing getting back into art because while it felt second nature, Gerard had doubted himself at first. He kept eyeing Mikey, trying to gauge his reaction to see if the way he was drawing was the same from the years he’d been missing. He wondered if his style changed, if he even kept up with art for all those years. But of course Mikey didn’t budge, and it was just another thing that Gerard had to learn to let go. 

“Turkey and swiss, right?” Ville asks, his lips curled because he already knows what Gerard is going to get. 

“Yeah, thanks. I’m just going to work for a bit,” Gerard says, and heads to his usual table with his sketchbook when Ville waves him off. 

There’s something really comfortable about Ville’s shop, something that tugs at the back of his mind--but not in a threatening way. It’s like a reminder that he belongs here. The music Ville plays is a mix between shit he listened to when he was a kid and music that clearly is from the chunk of time he’s missing. But Gerard still vibes with it like he was there when it was made, and sometimes he catches himself singing along to the next verse before he’s even heard it. 

“It happens with music,” Bam had told him one night when they were passing a joint back and forth. “Your mind can remember melodies or something. It’s like that shit they say about listening to music when you study, and then play it back when you take a test and you’ll remember everything you studied. It like...bridges things, you know?”

And the thing was that Gerard  _ did _ know. It felt like he was standing on a bridge whenever he was sitting in Ville’s shop, a bridge that was covered in fog at the end. 

“Is your soy milk unsweetened?”

Gerard looks up, because he doesn’t recognize that voice. Their town really isn’t a place that a lot of tourists end up at. Sometimes he’ll see strangers at the gas station or fast food joints, just stopping for a break before they continue onto wherever they were meant to be. So while it’s odd to see someone new, it’s not exactly unheard of. 

But the tenseness in Ville’s shoulders throws Gerard off and the way his eyes keep darting to Gerard then back to the guy. “Um, yeah.”

“Great, I’ll have a soy latte then, thanks,” the guy says breezily like he doesn’t notice Ville’s standoffish pose at all. 

And when he turns, Gerard furrows his brows at his expression. Because this guy is looking at Gerard like he’s trying not to show any emotion. But Gerard can tell-- somehow he just  _ knows _ that this guy is holding back. His jaw clenches and Gerard notices the flutter of muscle there, along with the way he presses his lips tightly together and darts his eyes away when Gerard meets them. 

He pulls his cardigan closer to him and sits down at a high top near the door, like he can’t wait to get out of there. But that’s not exactly true either, because he keeps sneaking glances at Gerard when he thinks Gerard isn’t paying attention. 

The air feels charged between them, like Gerard’s whole body had been rubbed against an analog television. He feels like he’s going to be zapped with tension at any moment and he doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Ville says, “Frank,” all short and clipped like he can’t wait until he’s gone.

Frank stands quickly, his legs looking more shaky than they had when he first walked in. He takes the coffee from Ville and chances another long look at Gerard, this one not subtle at all. His hazel eyes travel down Gerard’s body, like he’s assessing him. Gerard can feel his eyes caressing his cheek, feels held by him--like under his gaze is exactly where Gerard is meant to be. 

It’s not until the door is shut behind him that Gerard realizes Ville knew Frank’s name. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love on the first chapter, you all are the best <3

“Do we know a Frank?”

Mikey drops the stack of boarded issues he’d been carrying and then swears before bending down to pick them back up. “Um, not that I know of. Why?”

Gerard knows when his brother is lying. And he’s not really pissed about it, he’s just confused as to  _ why _ he’s being lied to. He bends down to help grab the scattered issues. “There was a guy at Ville’s yesterday and they seemed to know each other.

“Oh,” Mikey says, his voice carefully apathetic, “Well, Ville knows lots of people.”

Which, yeah, Gerard knows that. Ville and Bam are careful about talking about their lives around Gerard, and he figures it’s because they’re trying to be sensitive to the fact that Gerard is missing a decade of his life. But from what he’s gathered over the few years he and Mikey have been friends with them, Ville and Bam had traveled a lot when they were younger. And the two of them are pretty sociable people, so it wouldn’t surprise Gerard to know that they’ve picked up friends here and there on their adventures around the globe. 

But that’s not really what’s bothering him.

“The guy, though, Frank,” Gerard says, handing Mikey the last few issues before standing up, “He looked at me like we used to know each other.”

Mikey’s careful demeanor falters a little and Gerard can see the gears turning in his mind. He’s trying to come up with another lie, Gerard realizes. 

“Forget it,” Gerard says, running a hand through his messy brown hair, “I’m probably just imagining it.”

Mikey stands up with his stack of issues and shrugs. “I get it. You’re still trying to connect the dots,” he says, biting his lower lip--which is a telling sign-- “Just, try to let it go. I promise you, you’re just going to work yourself up if you keep poking at it.”

Which really isn’t in Gerard’s nature at all, but he tries to table it for now. Besides, he could never see that man again and it doesn’t do him any good to get Mikey all worked up over him again. They’ve finally gotten to a place where Mikey doesn’t look like he’s going to have a stroke everytime Gerard talks. 

It’s easy to pretend everything is fine around Mikey, he’s been doing it for years. But it’s harder when he’s off from the shop again and sitting at home alone. His and Mikey’s house looks a lot like their childhood home in Jersey. There’s a collection of odd posters littering their walls, things that they took with them from their teenage bedrooms like Mikey’s  _ Jaws _ poster and Gerard’s Iron Maiden one, as well as a hodgepodge of photos that Mikey put up to make Gerard feel less scattered with his memories. 

Sometimes when he’s bored, he likes to walk their halls and draw up a story between the photographs. It always starts in familiar territory, there’s photos of them from their teen years and early twenties. They’re covered in eyeliner and bad fashion statements, carrying cans of beer or lit cigarettes--which, fuck, that’s something Gerard really misses. Smoking with damaged vocal cords just really isn’t a good idea, and it makes it worse when Ville’s chain smoking looks so damn good. 

But once he gets past the photos of them he knows, he has to start poking at his dormant imagination. There’s photos of him with various weird dye jobs, he especially is puzzled by the teal roots look. So he thinks that he must have been doing something creative because he doubts anything corporate would have allowed that. But the photos aren’t telling. Some of them are with other people he doesn’t recognize, people who don’t stir anything in the back of his mind like Frank had. And that confuses him, because he has proof of knowing these people--but they’re strangers in his mind. There’s nothing tangible there, but he can--Gerard can  _ feel _ Frank there. He can tell he used to occupy the holes in his memory. 

He likes that there’s so many photos of him and Mikey though, likes that they never drifted apart throughout the years. That had been a worry when he woke up and started to take note of all the differences in his brother. At some glances, he seemed like an entirely different person from the kid he grew up with. He was quieter, and not in the way he had been in school where he just seemed apathetic. This quiet seemed more of a product of giving too much, he looked beaten down some days. And because he’s Gerard, he thought it was because of him. 

He tried to pull it out of Mikey but Mikey wouldn’t budge, until one day Gerard came down downstairs and found him curled up into a ball on the couch. The Way family are no strangers to various forms of mental illness, but Mikey never seemed to have had trouble when he was a kid. But that could have been because Gerard was too preoccupied by his own spiral during that time. 

And it wasn’t fair, but Gerard sat on the floor beside him and rubbed his back while asking him questions. In Mikey’s weakened state, he let it slip that there was a really dark time a bit ago when Mikey had to leave his brother to go get professional help. 

“We were working together,” Mikey had said, “it was a  _ really _ big project and it just got to me. That, and I was twenty-five and stupid.”

“Not stupid, Mikes,” Gerard had whispered. 

Gerard knows he didn’t get the full story, but it’s enough to know that Mikey’s gone through some shit and it helps a bit to know that what they’re doing now is making him happy. He still has bad days here and there, but Gerard can tell that he’s genuinely happy with their life. 

Sometimes he tries to piece together Mikey’s story in the photos. Some of them don’t sit well with Gerard, he can tell by the glassy look in his brother’s eyes that he’s not all the way there, but there’s some really good photos of him  _ beaming _ . 

“When did we meet Brian May?” Gerard had asked, vibrating with excitement as he looked at the  _ horribly _ blurry photo. 

Mikey grinned and said, “Birthday present. I got us backstage passes.”

Gerard snorted and said, “Glad to know you never lost your touch at getting your way in the music scene.”

Sometimes the scenarios he thought up for those missing years were pretty tame, like he and Mikey were in the art scene and they traveled together putting together galleries. It would make sense given some of their fashion choices, and there’s a few photos of them that look like they’re at a professional event. He likes to think that they were making a difference somehow. That they were making people not feel alone, to connect them through art the way people can with music. 

Music. Sometimes Gerard pretended they were in a band. He could see that with the way that MIkey will run his fingers against the steering wheel like he’s pressing down on a fretboard. It was a bigger stretch since all the bands he had been in as a teenager fell short--Mikey still teases him about getting kicked out for not being able to play “Sweet Home Alabama”. 

But there’s some nights where he wakes up in sweat, though not nightmare sweat. He wakes up feeling like he had been under hot stage lights. And the dreams feel so real when he wakes up, he’d still feel the music vibrating through his bloodstream, could feel the warm buzz of his vocal cords being used, could still taste lyrics on the tip of his tongue. 

The idea became a parasite in Gerard’s mind when the dreams first started. He tried to push it off, tried to remember what Mikey said about not wanting to know what he’d lost. But eventually he had caved and snuck Mikey’s laptop out of his bedroom one evening. 

He’d felt pretty stupid for googling his own name, but it was all he could think to do. He remembers how hard his heart had pounded before he hit enter, and then was flooded with a wave of disappointment. Or, maybe not disappointment. The lack of results just confused him more because he had been so  _ sure _ . But then the more he sat there looking at nothing, the more he felt something comforting bloom over the void of disappointment. 

He wouldn’t have wanted to have that dream come true, only to not be able to have it now. 

  
  


*

Gerard really hasn’t dated since the accident, and he can’t say he has much of an interest to do so.  Sometimes. 

Sometimes the urge to have someone with him is so strong, it nearly paralyzes him. Like when he sees Bam with Ville, that’s when it’s the worst. 

Their story is the sickening kind of sweet that makes his heart feel sticky with jealousy. They’d met when they were both young and stupid, too wild to reallly understand the weight of what they were doing with each other. 

It depends on who he asks really. If he asks Bam about their past, Bam will tell this story of him being on vacation in Finland and basically falling in love with Ville at first sight. And he’ll always start the story off with funny stories of them getting into trouble with too many bottles of whiskey in some European country. Gerard always likes that part of the story, when Bam’s eyes are bright and a bit distant like he’s relieving those days. He’ll grin shyly about the night Ville carried him on his back through Prague because he’d been so drunk and left his shoes somewhere. And he’ll laugh about the time he came back from Vegas only to find that Ville had cut all his beautiful curls off without any thought. 

But then the stories get darker as Bam starts realizing again how many of their stories revolve around alcohol and his voice gets a little breathy whenever he recounts their arguments and time spent apart at rehab facilities. And he’s only mentioned Ryan’s death once, but it was enough for Gerard to happily gloss over that dark part of their story. But it’s how they reconnected after alcohol had poisoned their relationship. It’s how they decided it was time to leave the partying behind and find somewhere quiet to make a life for themselves. 

When Bam tells the story, it’s always his fault for encouraging Ville’s drinking. For facilitating any other substances that he wanted to add to the mix. Because Bam was so far gone for Ville, he’d do anything for him even if it was to help him destroy himself. 

If Gerard asked Ville, he’d get the polar opposite. It was Ville who introduced Bam to day drinking. It was Ville who drug him into the dark parts of his psyche and then left him there once he decided he couldn’t handle the two of them anymore. He was the one that corrupted Bam into something ugly that he didn’t want anymore. 

Ville’s only talked about it a couple times with Gerard. He doesn’t like to reminisce about the old days like Bam does. He’s got that quiet sensitive soul that Gerard can relate to, and he sees that Ville soaks up the bad things in this world like a sponge so that it doesn’t spill over onto his loved ones. He can see that he tries to carry the burden so that Bam doesn’t feel heavy with it. 

But regardless of who’s side of their whirlwind romance he hears, it always ends the same--with them curled into each other on the couch and Ville nodding off while Gerard and Bam talk video games. And it always tugs at his heart when he sees Bam subconsciously press small kisses to Ville’s curls or pull the throw blanket closer around his boney shoulders. 

Gerard wants that. He wants the feeling of just  _ knowing _ someone so deeply that he’s not even aware of the things he does. He wants to feel so completely wrapped up that his affection is second nature. Wants to smile instantly like Ville does when Bam walks into his coffee shop on his lunch break. Wants to get into silly arguments over bands just because it’s powerful to see the other person’s passion. He fucking wants someone to look at him the way Bam looks at Ville, like he’s both his savoir and damnation--like he wouldn’t be content with just Heaven or Hell, he needs to feel both extremities to encompass the love he has for Ville. 

Gerard wants Hell if it means he gets everything. Mikey wanting to protect him from the hurt makes sense, it’s something that Gerard would do for him too. But he thinks the pain-- the years of  _ almost _ , of vices so strong it nearly destroys everything beautiful, of bitter words said out of cowardice, or never being at the right time or place--is what makes the quiet moments of sitting on the couch together mean something so much more. 

Because Ville and Bam never gave up on each other like Gerard thinks everyone wanted them to. He knows that people are quick to label something damaging, unhealthy, broken and ugly--but Gerard has always found beauty in the ugly. 

And he thinks that if he were ever to have fallen in love, it would be something epically tragic or it wouldn’t be Gerard. 

*

Gerard’s been doing a good job at forgetting Frank until he sees him in the grocery store, standing in front of his brand of macaroni and cheese. And it really shouldn’t matter, but Gerard takes it as a fucking sign or something. 

“Hey,” he says, then bites the inside of his cheek to hold back the laugh that threatens to erupt when Frank’s head snaps up so fast, Gerard’s worried he got whiplash. 

“Um, hey?” Frank says tentatively, tucking a dark strand behind his ear. Gerard can’t help but sort of get fixated on his hands. They’re heavily tattooed and Gerard bets if it weren’t winter on the east coast, he’d get too see more ink. 

“How do you know Ville?” Gerard asks, getting straight to the point apparently. 

Frank’s eyebrows furrow and he’s sort of a better actor than Mikey, but there’s something telling Gerard that he’s lying too. Something that tells him that Frank scratching his nose and looking down at his shoes means he’s lying to Gerard. They’re mannerisms that Gerard shouldn’t know, but somehow does. 

Because he knows this man. 

Gerard’s sure of this more than he has been of anything since he woke up in that hospital. 

“I don’t--” then when he sees Gerard raise an eyebrow, he amends, “Well, not really well. And, sorry, but why does this concern you?”

Gerard doesn’t like to talk about his accident to anyone because it always gets him the pity look and too many awkward apologies. But his curiosity is outweighing his impending embarrassment, so he says, “I was in an accident a few years back. I have memory loss so when someone new comes into my life and knows people I do, I get curious.”

Frank looks more unsettled as he turns back to the macaroni display and aligns them so they’re all straight on the shelf. “Curious?” He asks. 

“About whether or not they’re actually new or not,” Gerard says. 

This makes Frank freeze and Gerard watches the way he swallows thickly again, just as he did in the coffee shop. “You think we’ve met before?”

“Have we?” Gerard challenges. 

“No,” Frank says quickly, then the tightness dissolves and he looks back at Gerard with a soft smile. “I would have remembered you.”

_ I would have remembered you _ . Gerard thinks the same thing, thinks that’s why he feels it in his fucking bones that he knows Frank. He wouldn’t forget him. He doesn’t--in every way that makes sense-- he doesn’t know him. But he can tell that Frank is someone you don’t forget, accident or not. 

“Yeah,” Gerard says, a little dazed, “Ok. Sure.”

Frank’s still looking at him, like he’s deciding something before he turns and picks up a different brand of macaroni. “Do you want to grab lunch?”

“What’d you have in mind?” Gerard asks. 

Frank grins and shakes the box of macaroni and Gerard thinks,  _ yeah, I can see us having been friends _ . 

*

Frank’s staying in a rental which makes Gerard purse his lips together because it means he’s planning on staying for a bit. “So are you here for business?” Gerard asks, eyeing a few boxes still left to unpack in the corner of the living room. 

Frank’s putting away groceries and shrugs. “I’m sorta in between things at the moment.”

“So you came to Maine? Do you have family here?”

Frank chuckles. “Still with the third degree, huh?” Gerard blushes, but he shrugs. It seems to appease Frank because he says, “No, I don’t have family here. I wanted to get away for a bit and my travel agent said this area was a good place to find some peace and quiet.”

Gerard hops up on the bar stool at the kitchen counter where Frank is unpacking his groceries still. Right now is when he could really go for a cigarette and his fingers twitch like they’re ready to pull one out of a pack and light up. 

Frank notices and smiles. “How long ago did you quit?”

“Since the accident, so about three years ago I guess,” Gerard says. 

“Pretty impressive,” Frank says, “I quit but usually wind back on them again. I have shit friends.” But he’s grinning like he’s got anything but shitty friends. Something swells in Gerard’s chest, almost like he’s proud of Frank or something. Which is ridiculous. 

They fall in a pretty comfortable silence, one that Gerard only remembers having with childhood friends. Frank peels off his denim jacket and Gerard can’t help but trace over the tattoos with his eyes. He was right, Frank is  _ covered _ in ink. And he’s got this worked up, but still relaxed demeanor about him. He can tell that he’s nervous, that there’s something wound deep in him that’s preventing him from letting his shoulders sink all the way down. 

But he also looks totally at home in Gerard’s presence. There’s no air of awkwardness Gerard usually gets when he’s spending time with someone new. Usually the other person has walls up, walls that they’ll decide on a later date if they want to drop them for Gerard. But Frank feels like an open book to him. Or, a book he already read and he just needs to re-familiarize himself with. 

“You’re vegan,” Gerard says-- not really a question as he looks at the vegan branded macaroni, but Frank takes it as one when he nods and fills a pot with water. 

“Yeah, I have a pretty sensitive stomach.”

Gerard nods, getting a wave of protectiveness wash over him. Frank is so small and almost frail looking--though he can tell that Frank would kick anyone’s ass if he heard them call him frail. He thinks back to seeing him almost being swallowed by his cardigan at Ville’s and he can’t help but smile. 

“What?” Frank asks, voice warm with a smile of his own. 

But Gerard can’t tell him what he was thinking, so he blurts, “I like your tattoos!” Which makes him cough, and spurs Frank to fill a cup with tap water and press it into Gerard’s hands. 

“Here, easy, just take a drink,” Frank says, his hand on Gerard’s back and it’s really fucking hard to relax when Frank’s touch is sending electricity down his spine. 

He manages to quit coughing long enough to take a few sips, letting the cool water sooth his aggravated vocal cords. 

“Here, I can make some tea,” Frank says, opening cabinets with a determined look. 

“This is fine,” Gerard rasps, taking another sip to show him he’s not dying or anything, but then he adds, “Or coffee.”

Frank snorts and mumbles something that sounds like, “of course,” but Gerard doesn’t call him out on it. He just files it away in his growing evidence that he and this man know each other. 

Frank finds his teakettle and fills it up before setting it on the stove next to the pot of water. 

“Really, I--”

“Hush, I know. You’d prefer coffee,” Frank interrupts with a grin, “But tea and some honey would probably be better for you.”

Gerard wrinkles his nose, because that’s not caramel coffee at all, but instinctively he knows better than to argue with Frank at the moment. Instead, he lets Frank fuss over him while making their pasta. He fills the silence with stories that aren’t too telling, but Gerard appreciates them just the same and whenever he tries to talk again, Frank interrupts him with another story. It’s not the most subtle way of making Gerard rest his voice, but he appreciates that Frank isn’t blatantly making it a big deal either. 

And somehow he ends up inviting himself to help Frank finish unpacking the rest of his boxes. Frank is clearly a sentimental person. He’s got a lot of clothing that looks like he’s kept from years ago if Gerard were to compare the style to those he’s seen in Mikey’s photographs. And he’s got lots of knick knacks that look like they've been collected over the years from various places--movie tickets printed in spanish, candy wrappers from Japan, venue flyers from Germany. 

When they get to the box that has Frank’s vinyl collection, he can’t help himself when he asks, “You know my brother and I met Brian May?”

Frank perks up and tilts his head, and Gerard can’t help but think he sorta looks like a puppy at the moment. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gerard says, “I don’t remember it, but Mikey has a photo of the three of us.”

Something in Frank’s eyes dims and he nods. “Yeah, wow, that’s awesome.”

Except it sounds anything but awesome, but Gerard doesn’t get a chance to ask what’s wrong because he finds a jacket tucked in with the vinyls. He pulls it out and notices that it’s wrapped around an Iron Maiden album,  _ Live After Death _ . He remembers getting it when he was fourteen and practically listening to it nonstop for five years. This copy is tattered like it’s been well loved too, and the way it feels in his fingertips makes him think  _ this is my copy _ . But that’s ridiculous. 

“Oh,” Frank says, sounding a bit weird, but he clears his throat and asks, “You like that one?”

Gerard nods numbly and sets the record down before unfolding the jacket all the way. It’s a leather jacket that looks like it’s practically disintegrated. And dear lord, does it fucking reek. There’s something about this jacket that feels familiar too. But that could be because he remembers practically living in a leather jacket when he was in his early twenties. He thinks that maybe Mikey was the one who got it for him for a birthday or something. 

“This thing looks like it belongs in the trash,” Gerard grins, looking up and feeling his grin slip off his face instantly. Because Frank looks  _ broken _ and like he’s having some sort of crisis over seeing Gerard hold this jacket. It must have belonged to someone important or meant something to Frank and Gerard feels like a fucking asshole for insulting it. “I mean, sorry--I have things from a long time ago too. Mikey tried to throw some stuff out, but, I mean, I don’t have many memories as it is. So I get it.”

Frank turns his back, but Gerard hears his shaky breath as he says, “yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](https://throwupsparkles.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/throwupsparkle) where I'm diving head first into my HIM obsession. 
> 
> Also! If you're looking for some more Vam goodness, I highly suggest you check out [What Desire Will Make Foolish Fanboys Do](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119492) and [Wicked Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28581528)! And like...if you're a writer...and you want to add to the resurgence of Vam in 2021... I'd love you forever if you wrote us starving Vam fans a fic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love on the last chapter <3

There’s times where Gerard thinks he’s getting a flashback, but he has a hard time knowing if it’s just his imagination or if it really is a memory. And he tries to remember his doctor’s advice about not getting too excited since some amnesia patients never get any memories back, but it’s really fucking hard. Obviously.

Sometimes he brings it up to Mikey, if he thinks it’s small enough that it won’t warrant Mikey worrying over him again. Because some of the things he thinks of are really stupid. Like, “Did I ever have to walk around with a cane?”

Mikey had snorted and nodded. “Yeah, this idiot jumped on you and fractured your ankle.”

But other things he gets in his mind aren’t silly at all. Things like being on his knees and puking his brains out into a trash can. He could feel the concern heavy around him, but he was too far gone to really pay them any mind. Then there’d be a hand that touches his back, grounding him to life as if Gerard had been close to leaving it in that moment. 

And Gerard can’t help but analyse that touch, to compare the weight of it to the weight of Frank’s hand on his shoulder now, laughing and hunched over. They’re at the comic book shop with Gerard behind the counter and Frank laughing at him for disclosing that the time he got held up by gunpoint, he’d been worried about finishing the comic he had back at home. 

“You’re such a nerd,” Frank says, but he says it with the weight of fondness and Gerard bets they’ve had this conversation already. It feels familiar on his tongue. 

“Like you’re not?” Gerard challenges, leaning over with his elbows on the counter. 

Frank’s hand slips away and Gerard instantly misses it, but then he gets to see Frank run his inked hand through his dark hair again. “For different reasons probably.”

Gerard measures him and brings up a hand to rest his chin on, grinning. “Hmm, I’m not sure you’d be a movie buff. Something tells me you don’t really have the attention span for a movie.”

Frank snorts and shrugs, clearly not willing to give anything away. Instead he pages through  _ Arkham Asylum _ with an air of indifference. But Gerard’s been around Mikey long enough to know when that’s an act. He can see his hip moving, and he’s willing to bet Frank is tapping his foot on the floor to work out his nerves. 

“Not a movie buff,” Gerard reiterates, thinking harder and something about Frank’s hands on the copy of  _ Arkham Asylum _ tells Gerard everything he needs to know. He can picture those hands turning pages of books read long ago, with the same care that he’s treating the book in front of him now. If he thinks about it harder, Gerard can smell the musk of paper and the tang of ink. He can feel the ridges of clothed spines against his fingertips, can hear Frank’s voice echoing--telling him something but the memory is gone before Gerard can really solidify it into reality. “You like to read.”

Frank’s lips quirk up a little and he shrugs again, but it’s boyish and reminds Gerard of being a shy teenager trying to play it cool. He’s about to say something, maybe even tease him about it, but the bell over the front door rings and Gerard looks up to see Bam carrying a cup of coffee from Ville’s. 

Bam stiffens a bit when he sees Frank leaning against the counter, and Gerard realizes now that they’re sorta leaning into each other, so he takes a step back and smiles innocently. Bam quirks an eyebrow like he’s not buying any of Gerard’s shit and extends the coffee, saying, “Sorry, Frank. I would have brought you something if I knew you were hanging around here.”

Gerard narrows his eyes at Bam, because it’s not really what he said, it’s how he said it. Gerard’s learned how Bam plays dirty, and it’s kind of like a teenage girl honestly--which isn’t the insult it probably sounds like. 

“I was telling Frank about the comic book shop and he wanted to check it out,” Gerard explains. 

Bam smiles, though it’s far from pleasant. “On Mikey’s day off? I’m sure Mikey would have liked to have met him.”

Something darkens in Frank’s eyes and he closes the comic, “I should probably go. I’ve got some emails I’ve been ignoring for too long.”

Bam eyes them and then shrugs. “Nah, don’t let me scare you off. I just came by to give Gee his hourly dose of caffeine.”

“Hourly?” Frank grins. 

“He’s exaggerating,” Gerard says, blushing a bit behind his coffee cup. 

Frank just hums and eyes Gerard like he knows better. Bam clears his throat and says, “Right, I’ll catch you guys later.”

“Why are my friends so bent out of shape about you?” Gerard muses, setting the cup down on the counter and twisting it around in his hands. 

“Are they?” Frank asks, but it sounds hollow and like he’s stalling for time. 

“Frank.”

Frank shrugs and steps away from the counter. “Maybe you should listen to them--”

“Frank--”

“--Or you could go out to dinner with me,” Frank finishes with a wicked grin. 

*

Gerard has like five seconds left to shoot a goal so he can get this damn orb, but Spyro is being a dick and it doesn’t help that Bam is laughing every time he misses the shot. 

“So, Frank?” Bam asks when the timer goes off and Gerard rolls his eyes. 

“What about him?” 

Bam takes a long drink from his coke as if there was rum mixed in with it. He sighs and says, “I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”

“Well thanks,” Gerard says, “But I’m nearing forty, so I think I can make those types of decisions on my own.”

“Sure,” Bam reasons, “Though you don’t remember like ten years of your life, so really you’re a dumb twenty-something about to royally fuck up.”

Gerard snorts. “Going out on a date with Frank is a royal fuck up?”

Bam’s eyebrows raise and he shakes his head. “That man, I swear to God. And I thought I was the trouble maker.”

Gerard hands over the controller and watches Bam effortlessly sink a goal within the first few seconds. “I thought you wanted me to date. You said I was too much of a hermit.”

Bam snorts. “I meant ask Kyle out or something, not some rando that shows up at Ville’s place.”

“Kyle?” Gerard frowns, “The checkout guy at the gas station? He’s got like three teeth.”

“Well it’s a small town, Gee, slim pickins and all that.”

Bam scores the final goal with twenty seconds left to spare and Gerard begrudgingly watches as Bam’s given the orb Gerard had been working on all afternoon. “Why is Spyro even playing hockey? He’s a fucking dragon. I hate this game.”

“You’re just mad because you suck at anything that’s not Zelda,” Bam counters, then, “And don’t change the subject, I’m not Mikey.”

Gerard smirks a bit, because it is easy to get Mikey distracted and skirt around uncomfortable conversations. “Frank’s not some rando who showed up at Ville’s. You know that,  _ I _ know that.”

Bam sets down the controller and faces Gerard. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Gerard says quickly, before he lets his overactive mind try and convince him otherwise. Because there is this part of him, the part that has been lurking around since he was a teenager, that doubts everything. A part of him that thinks he’s making this all up. He’s making a big deal out of nothing, seeing what he wants to see. The jacket meant nothing, it just looks like everyone’s old teenage leather jacket with sentimental value. At his age, that album could be found in pretty much anyone’s collection. The touch, the smile, the long looks mean nothing because at the end of the day, Gerard is just touch starved and reaching for something to grasp onto after feeling like he’s been floating aimlessly since he woke up with a broken head and torn vocal cords. He just wants to anchor himself to something true, but he’s an artist and knows that truth can be fabricated if one tried hard enough. 

Bam sighs and runs a hand through his short wavy hair. “Where’s he taking you?”

Gerard feels his crooked smile fix itself on his face, and by Bam’s laugh, he’s sure he looks like a lovesick idiot. “I’m not sure.”

“Come on,” Bam says, standing up and taking Gerard’s hand, “We’re raiding Ville’s closet. You’re not wearing that gross hoodie out.”

“Because you dress any better,” Gerard mutters. 

“Which is why we’re going to Ville’s closet, not mine,” Bam reminds him. 

Ville’s closet is pretty impressive and Gerard has often found himself admiring his jackets. Gerard really has a thing for jackets. His favorite had been the one that Ville pulled out one day with a reminiscent laugh. It was a really over the top buttoned down jacket with stark white lettering against dark baroque fabric that read ‘Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell’. And Ville had so many vintage band tees from old Black Sabbath concerts mixed with shirts from bands Gerard had never heard of. 

And well, he also had quite the hat collection. Gerard’s pretty sure he could count on one hand how many times he’d seen Ville without a hat. 

Bam starts sorting through Ville’s clothes, probably looking for a simple button down since that would be the least intimidating option for Gerard. He cracks a smile here or there when he sees certain items, and Gerard has fun watching Bam slip in and out of old memories. 

“What are you doing?” 

Gerard looks over at the door and sees Ville leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. Ville’s eyes glance over him, but when they reach Bam’s, Gerard has to look away and he sort of feels really awkward being in their bedroom while they’re looking at each other like that. 

“Gerard’s got a date,” Bam explains, pulling out a dark red button down. 

Gerard wrinkles his nose. “I don’t really like to wear red.”

Ville chuckles. “Right, I think there’s plenty of black in there for you to choose from. Who is the lucky guy?”

“Frank,” Bam answers, his voice carefully neutral. 

Gerard watches the way Ville’s eyebrows furrow a bit and he crosses his arms, making himself look small and uncomfortable. “Oh, I see.”

Gerard sits carefully on the edge of their bed and looks at the two of them. “How do you know Frank? And please don’t lie to me, I’m really tired of everyone lying to me.”

“No one is--”

“Stop,” Gerard sighs, “Just tell me the truth.”

He watches the way Ville and Bam look at each other, like they’re trying to sort through a game plan before Ville mutters something in Finnish and pulls out a cigarette. He lights up and tosses Bam a look, then says, “I know him because he hung around you and Mikey.”

“Jesus, Willa,” Bam groans, tossing the red shirt back into the closet. 

“He’s going to find out anyway,” Ville argues, “And I’m tired of having to walk on eggshells around him.”

“We were friends?” Gerard clarifies, because that doesn’t sound right either. It may have been the conclusion Gerard had first came to after spending time with Frank. There was an air of easiness around them, like they had already spent years together learning each other’s mannerisms and motives. 

But now he’s said it, ‘friends’ doesn’t seem to be the right word to describe their relationship. Because when he thinks of Frank, he thinks of the knowing looks, the comforting touch, and--fuck, the way his name felt like a well known lullaby on his lips. 

“If you’re going to tell him, tell him the whole truth,” Bam says, rolling his eyes. 

Ville shoots him a look and Gerard is about to press further, but Bam says, “You guys were  _ more _ than friends.”

Gerard waits for the truth to hit him, like he’s seen in movies. He keeps waiting for the flood of memories to wash over him, but it’s uneventful and Gerard feels strangely let down. But then Gerard remembers something else. “Wait,” he says slowly, “You  _ knew _ Mikey? We’ve met before?”

Ville’s eyes go wide as he realizes his slip up and Bam starts to laugh nervously, flipping through the clothes in the closet to keep his anxious hands busy. 

Gerard thinks back to when he first met Ville and Bam, and remembers finding it odd how welcoming Mikey had been to them when he was so standoffish to new people during that time. Because not long after Ville ‘introduced’ himself, Mikey was inviting him over to their house, a fortress that Mikey had practically built to keep Gerard safe from anything he thought might hinder his recovery process. 

During those first few months after the accident, Gerard was in and out of surgeries to try and salvage his vocal cords because there were more complications than just his voice softening forever. Ville had been there, bringing warm soups that his mother taught him to make during cold winters in Finland. And Gerard had thought it was strange that he would care for people he hadn’t even known. 

And then there was Bam, crashing into his and Mikey’s lives with his childish recklessness that made Gerard forget he was creeping into being a middle-aged man. But there was an odd sort of learning curve with Bam, Mikey didn’t seem quite as close with him as he did with Ville. 

“You guys lied to me,” Gerard says, feeling his brows knit together.

“Technically, I didn’t lie,” Bam says, “I didn’t know you guys until we moved here.”

“Shut it,” Ville grits and it makes Gerard stand up, wanting to get out of their house because the walls felt like they were starting to close in. “Gerard,” Ville says, grabbing his hand, but Gerard snatches it away. 

“I don’t even know who you--” he starts, but he chokes on a cough as his vocal cords protest.

“Sit,” Ville says, pushing Gerard back onto the bed and walking out of the room only to return quickly with a soda. After Gerard takes a couple sips, Ville sits next to him and puts his hand on Gerard’s knee. “Now listen. Yes, I did know you and your brother before you two moved here, but not well.”

Gerard narrows his eyes, so Ville hurries and says, “We ran in the same type of crowds and would wind up together here and there. But it’s not like how we are now.” He squeezes his knee and adds sincerely, “I promise, I am not lying about our friendship.”

“But--”

“I have no problem with telling you about our past,” Ville tells him, “But everything else...that’s between you and Mikey. I’m not getting into the middle of that.”

“But you know more,” Gerard challenges, seeing Bam shifting anxiously out of his peripheral. 

Ville purses his lips, then says, “Talk to Mikey.”

*

Gerard doesn’t end up talking to Mikey about Frank or their friends. Instead he goes home and puts on Texas Chainsaw Massacre in their living room and passes Mikey the popcorn when he reaches for it. He still snorts whenever Mikey jumps even though they’ve seen this movie a million times and he falls asleep on his shoulder before the credits roll. 

It’s not until the next morning when Gerard is pouring coffee into their travel cups that he asks, “How did you really meet Ville?”

Mikey doesn’t answer at first, he just rips open a pack of pop tarts and puts them in the toaster. But Gerard knows how to wait him out, and he may be keeping Mikey’s caffeine source hostage until he gets an answer. Mikey frowns when he realizes that Gerard is still holding his travel mug of coffee. 

“I think it was like 2005 or something,” Mikey huffs, reaching for the coffee. 

Gerard holds the mug back. “Alright. Where did you meet?”

“Why does this matter?”

“Well it apparently is a big enough deal for the three of you to lie to me,” Gerard says, “So spill.”

Mikey grits his teeth. “I’ll just get coffee from Ville’s.”

“Who do you think told me?”

“I swear, he has looser lips now that he’s sober,” Mikey mutters, reaching out for another feeble attempt. “We met at some party. In New York somewhere. I don’t remember the specifics.”

“And Frank was with us?” Gerard presses. 

Mikey exhales like all the air has just been stolen from him and he takes a couple steps back to brace against the fridge. “He told you that?”

“Ville did,” Gerard clarifies, “Frank doesn’t know that I know. We’re going out tonight.”

“Jesus,” Mikey breathes, covering his face with his hands and inhaling deeply. “Gee, please just stop.”   


“Why is it so bad that I know about Frank?” Gerard asks, “Is this why you moved us out of Jersey?”

Mikey doesn’t answer, so Gerard presses, “Was it like a bad breakup or something?”

Mikey barks out in laughter, which startles Gerard since Mikey doesn’t laugh like that unless he’s drunk or watching Monty Python. “Fuck, Gee,” he laughs, “Was it a bad breakup?”

“Well I guess that answers that question,” Gerard grumbles, sliding Mikey’s coffee towards him on the kitchen counter. 

Mikey drops his hands and ignores the coffee. “Yeah, Gerard, it was bad. It messed both of you up, it”--Mikey shakes his head and Gerard almost wants to take it all back to erase the haunted look in his eyes--“I’ve never seen you that heartbroken in my life.”

“Oh,” is all Gerard can manage to say. 

“Because,” Mikey continues, “It wasn’t even that you were sad, but you just sorta went mad. Everything we did afterwards didn’t feel right, you weren’t yourself at all. You didn’t give up, but what you did was almost worse.”

“Ville knows about it?” Gerard asks quietly. 

“I told him about it when we reconnected here,” Mikey says, jumping a bit when the pop tarts spring from the toaster, “Look, it’s a long conversation and we have to get to work…”

“No reason why we can’t continue this there,” Gerard presses because there’s no way he’s going to be able to pretend this is just a normal work day now. 

Mikey rolls his eyes and hands Gerard a pop tart on top of a paper towel. “Yeah, I figure you’re not letting this go.”

Everyone always thought that Mikey was a quiet guy, but that was just the facade Mikey presented to get people to back off. When Mikey was passionate about something, the little dude just wouldn’t shut up. And Gerard is thankful that he’s finally getting some information, but it’s a bit overwhelming too. It’s like Mikey has been keeping this inside, keeping all the ugly, putrid history of Gerard and Frank’s heartbreak to himself, letting it spoil his insides and now that he’s let the lid off, he finally can breathe in the fresh air and heal. 

Gerard wonders how much Ville and Bam had to listen to Mikey rant about this shit, how much they had learned about Gerard’s worst days. And he wonders how the two of them were able to look at him and not treat him any differently after they had learned how far off the handles he had flown off. 

It seemed like a pretty stereotypical story of two friends falling in love with each other. Frank and Gerard had hit it off almost instantaneously, becoming inseparable and always hanging off one another. “And I don’t really know the details,” Mikey had said, “Not that I want to know,” but they clearly had fallen for each other pretty quickly. 

The trouble came with the fact that it was the mid-2000s in America and homophobia was more prevalent than it was today. And Gerard took that to heart, sometimes wanting to hide Frank and other times kissing him out in the open as some ‘political stunt’, though Mikey said, “I think you just were fucking stupid in love”. And Frank got sick of it after a while, rightfully so. 

“You just flipped your lid when he confronted you about it,” Mikey told him, kicking his legs against the checkout counter they were sitting on. They had ignored the inventory that was supposed to have been checked in and Mikey only paused his tale when someone came in.

“I take it that was the end of us then,” Gerard concludes. 

Mikey nods. “Yeah, he...uh, got married and you threw yourself into work.”

Gerard lets out the breath he had been holding and asks, “Ok, so why is he here now?”

Mikey shrugs. “I have no idea.”

Gerard frowns, because Mikey had been telling the truth all day and he’s not sure why that question led him to lie again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking for a really amazing Frerard fic with a sprinkle of Ville goodness, you should really check out [Infractus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506570/chapters/69850827). I'm obsessed and think everyone should be reading it.


End file.
